Category Archives: Holiday Bullsh*t

Married, coupled or single, we invite disappointment into our lives the moment we award the key to our happiness to another person. Yet, every Valentine’s Day masses of people rely on others to make their day special.

Big mistake, not only on February 14th, but for the rest of the year as well.

Happiness does not present itself on your doorstep in the form of a heart shaped box, nor will it be discovered tucked amongst a dozen red roses. It can’t be gifted and should never be contingent on the actions and/or affections of others.

Holding onto the notion that one day you’ll be swept off your feet by a knight in shining armor is not only naive, it’s about as probable as being abducted by a Bigfoot.

These spectacularly scripted love scenes mostly only exist in Nicholas Spark novels, on the Hallmark channel and cheesy soap operas.

The deceptive seed responsible for unrealistic romantic expectations is planted early on in children’s happily-ever-after fairy tales, then packaged and distributed to polite conforming society by profit driven retailers.

Expecting to bathe in champagne and rose pedals every Valentine’s Day is like expecting the romantic honeymoon phase of a relationship to last forever. It’s unrealistic, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing… It’s just life.

The honeymoon phase of a relationship is similar to that once-in-a-lifetime dream trip spent drifting the majestic waterways of Venice Italy in a gondola or an exotic island vacation spent surrounded by glistening turquoise waters – blissful and exciting, albeit short lived. Excitement that shoots straight up and rings the bell when struck with a mallet, then POOF, it morphs back into something ordinary, leaving many hopeless romantics disenchanted.

The fact is, you can’t pre-plan or schedule moments where emotional fireworks spontaneously explode in bright brilliant hues of scarlet and fuzzy pink confetti rains from the heavens.

Spontaneous moments are just that… unplanned and unexpected. While these blissfully awesome moments often blow the top off of everything wonderful, be mindful that this is a gift and not something that is necessarily owed to us.

It is up to us to proclaim February 14th as our very own special day to celebrate the loves of our lives; our children, family, pets, friends, acquaintances or simply a day to engage in random acts of kindness at home, at work or in the community.

The authentic warm satisfyingly fuzzy feeling you get from giving, far surpasses the random scraps of affection you feel are owed to you by others. Spouse and/or significant other and family included. You can’t rely on other people for your own happiness. Ever.

Valentine’s Day is probably the biggest kill-joy of all preconceived expectations. Everyone seems to have an ideal picture in their mind of how “it’s supposed to be.” The problem is that the scenario is in your mind and other people don’t have the script, and even if they did, it doesn’t mean they’d meet your expectations.

Be proactive – make an effort to become involved in a charity or cause that you’re passionate about. Giving unconditionally awards us control of our own mindset and is undoubtedly the most noble and satisfying course of action.

Understand that the intention is to give and not necessarily receive praise – as many recipients may not acknowledge your gracious efforts, and that’s okay. When you make giving about you, you nullify the unconditional factor. Give because it feels good.

Switch up this day or therest of your life, grab the heart-shaped key and celebrate Valentine’s Day on your own loving terms.

In my humble mom-opinion, the Birdzilla holiday is definitely the King pin of all holiday clusterflucks.

It all starts with the grocery store clusterfluck. I’m referring to the mass of non-regular customers leisurely strolling the aisles with the entire maternal side of their family in tow. Shopping is for active participants only. Spectators are not welcome in the arena… they have no purpose other than to create a clusterfluck in aisle three.

On the other end of the spectrum is the daddy-deer-in-headlights; the lost looking male sent to the front lines to retrieve forgotten items. These guys are like a stubborn hair clog in the bathroom sink… they won’t budge. We’ll call them solitary clusterflucks.

*Note – During non-holiday shopping trips I have compassion for these pitiful creatures, but unfortunately, it’s the holiday season and the only rule of shopping during the holidays is get in and get out… like your life depends on it.

You encounter the extra person clusterfluck as soon as you enter the check–out area which is not so surprisingly bustling with extra bodies much like pesky ants at a picnic. How many people does it take to swipe a debit card? The answer is ONE, meaning all inactive shopping companions should do like a banana tree and LEAVE!

Finally having completed your shopping mission, you push the heavy overflowing shopping cart with-the-bad-wheel to the outermost border of the parking lot where you were forced to retreat. This is appropriately termed the parking-in-BFE clusterfuck. This sucks because you’re a regular customer who’s earned their VIP parking spot.

Also, the more traffic flowing through the parking lot, the more likely some inattentive holiday jackass-in-a-box will pop out in front of your car and end up as a hood ornament. Live hood ornaments are right up there with Rudolph’s antlers tacked to your mirror and/or Santa’s testicles dangling from your muffler.

This is called the tacky car accessories clusterfluck.

Finally, you slide into home base, but when you attempt to unload your gargantuan grocery order, there’s nowhere to put anything because of the kitchen-counter clusterfluck and the refrigeratorclusterfluck.

You saw that one coming, didn’t you?

When food prep commences, the overflowing dirty-dishes clusterfluck is immediately created and will regenerate for another 48-72 hours, making it the biggest clusterfluck of all. I despise washing dishes. I’m a huge fan of serving left-overs on paper plates, which incidentally causes a trash can clusterfluck, but what are you gonna do?

We’re picking our battles here.

Other painful holiday clusterflucks include the obvious dinner table fiasco, where you attempt to squeeze 15 people around an 8 seater table. “No fair… I want to sit near Suzy Lou Hoo!” This is called the intimate-encounter clusterfluck and also the reason I bought the big bottle of vodka.

Then there’s the dreaded people-who-don’t-belong-in-the-kitchen clusterfluck, which is why I leave a bag of unpeeled potatoes on the table. Everyone knows as soon as guests arrive, they immediately invade your sanctuary and try to be helpful.

“Grab a potato peeler. We’ve got a clusterfluck and a half of potatoes to peel,” says me.

To clear up any confusion, the tryptophan found in turkey not only makes you sleepy, it can give you a strong urge to dive off the roof of Macy’s during the Thanksgiving Day parade – right into Underdog’s inflatable ass, which would be affectionately termed the contipated balloon character clusterfluck.

And no, you will not catch me out and about on Black Friday. That’s an entirely separate clusterfluck in itself, worthy of it’s very own holiday book-of-rants.

Stick a spork in me.

This pilgrim is done… at least until the Christmas-time clusterfluck begins.

Click on the link below to receive updates on a fabulously fun mom-authored holiday book due out in 2015 – written by myself and my mommy comrades!

I’d like to propose a new holiday called Secret Mother’s Day, because we absofuckinglutely deserve it, that’s why.

Secret Mother’s Day would be just that.

A big fat secret.

After careful consideration, I’ve determined that it would be absolutely necessary to conceal it from our offspring, because God knows they’d just fuck it up.

It’s what they do best…. which is precisely why we’re keeping them in the dark.

In addition, we’d also keep it from our own mothers because (no offense or disrespect to them) but, obviously, you can’t thoroughly enjoy your own day as Queen Mother her Royal Highness, if you’re obligated to kiss someone else’s ass. That shit just cancels itself out and makes this day very confusing, not to mention disappointing.

Don’t give me that look.

You know it’s true and I did clarify… no offense or disrespect to them intended.

It just doesn’t mesh.

Nothing like winning a weekend to a five star resort and being asked to scrub the hot tub when you’re finished.

Just no.

This lets the air right out of the balloon of intended appreciation.

So there you have it… Secret Mother’s Day.

It would be an entire day, as in 24 entire hours and not just say a two hour block for brunch– if you’re lucky enough to be on the receiving end of that particular gift.

Alone.

No kids, no spouse or significant other, no relatives.

You’re welcome to bring the dog though, because dogs rock.

I said so.

Dogs are incredibly therapeutic, unconditionally loving and awesome in so many ways where humans essentially fall short. every. single. time.

So, it’s you and the dog.

All you have to do is chose the location (my venue is definitely a beach with warm surf and seashells) the type of lounging device you wish to recline in and what you’d like others (who aren’t your family— remember, they’d just fuck it up and for this reason, they’re not allowed within 100 miles of your special Secret Mother’s Day celebration) to do for you.

My short list includes a massage (that’s not in exchange for sex), cold drinks in fancy crystal glasses with pretty little umbrellas, chocolate covered strawberries presoaked in vodka, a stack of books to be read to me by Channing Tatum, an unlimited supply of chocolate peanut butter ice-cream served in waffle cones and a 20-something boy decoration to fan and water my dog, so he doesn’t get overheated.

That’s all I want.

Scratch that, not done.

Throw in a photographer to capture the evidence of our extremely secret and awesome adventure, as well as an Internet connection to plaster this red carpet day all over social media like the rest of the faux Internet moms who-are-most-likely-full-of-shit.

As Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom, I hereby proclaim that Mother’s Day be celebrated the entire weekend this year… and forever.

It’s been a rough one, that’s why.

No way is one lousy day of cleaning up your own shit and being on excellent behavior gonna cut it, girls and boys.

Not this year, my precious offspring.

Extreme mom is going completely proactive this Mother’s Day to guarantee that it doesn’t SUCK.

You have been hereby enlisted… as a GIVER.

Therefore, specific TO DO lists will be distributed to each of my brood.

We’re gonna get it right this time.

Here we go.

Mother’s Day… Take 21!!

(The number is accurate. No. Shit.)

ACTION!!!

Here’s a preview of my short list of demands:

*You will bathe the dogs with excellent smelling shampoo, then scrub the entire bathroom including the tub.

YES, this does need to be spelled out.

The powder room and pets shall smell like a fresh meadow.

*Clean my car- that was incidentally trashed by YOU.

You shall vacuum the resident floor rubble and debris that you dragged in, clean all dog slobber off the windows, dispose of dead insect carcasses from the dashboard and remove sticky goo from the cup holders.

Again, sparkly clean.

•Vacuum both sets of stairs in the house and do not attempt to make a new family member out of the pet hair.

NO, I wouldn’t mention this if history hadn’t dictated already that it’s was absolutely necessary.

Plus, we already have our limit of dependents.

Use care not to clog the vacuum. I’m tired of performing a colonoscopy on the Dyson every single time I attempt to turn it on.

This is a proactive exercise, because unfortunately some things do have to be spelled out.

Remember, this is only my short list.

*grin*

Had my children had the foresight to say… toast me a lousy poptart, scribble HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY on a sheet of paper or pluck me a few daffodils from my own garden, I wouldn’t have been forced to make these heinous demands.

I shall also, hereby be completely EXEMPT from partaking in any of the following on Mother’s Day weekend, which absolutely includes Friday and Saturday… from this year until the end of time.

I shall not cook or touch unprepared food.

I shall not go to the grocery store.

I shall not do laundry.

I shall be exempt from driving you anywhere.

I shall not do dishes… or even look at them.

I shall not answer questions or engage in conversations beginning with:

Will you?

Can I?

I need…

I’m hungry…

I’m borrrrrrred…

It’s not fair…

Things that YOU can do for me:

Pretend to be unmiserable.

Make me coffee

Do not complain… about anything.

Most importantly, do this shit WITHOUT being told or reminded.

Anyone breaking the rules of Mother’s Day Weekend will be exiled to the back yard and forced to live in a tent.

I know my expectations are ridiculously high this year.

A girl can dream…

NOTE- This post was from 2013 and my children failed miserably that year.

That’s entirely different post.

You’re not alone fellow moms.

I, and almost everyone who’s not your kids, appreciate the Hell out of you.

Rock on, mamacita’s!! The world as we know it would come to a screeching halt without you.

To be crystal clear, we’re talking about second rate imitation chocolate that tastes like wax and resembles nothing remotely similar to the devine cocoa product from Heaven above… or even Hershey, Pennsylvania.

So, why exactly is Valentines Day the equivalent of fake chocolate that tastes more like a diarrhea brown colored crayon?

Let’s start with… you’re only invited to participate if the planets line up in an anatomically correct heart shape where the left ventricle is positioned directly over the North Star or you happen to be someone’s current love interest.

Otherwise, you’re gonna have to sit this one out, because Valentines Day is a couples only celebration.

Unfortunately, this retail industry created 3-ring circus-of-a-holiday is responsible for countless generations of young ladies feeling inferior and isolated – every 365 days… or planet rotations around the sun.

Society has deemed February 14th – Judgement Day, where ones worthiness is rated based on the degree of materialistic affection she draws.

Receiving the following gifts will earn you a WINNING cupids day!

*A dozen long stemmed red roses

*Chocolates in a HEART SHAPED box bigger than your head

The following presents will get you… FIRST RUNNER UP… which is pretty much a fail.

You shall retain the role of career bridesmaid.

*A half dozen long stemmed roses or roses that aren’t blood red scarlet – the very same shade that pumps through the cardiac muscle and supposedly rules emotions.

News flash- The heart muscle keeps your sorry ass alive by circulating nutrients and oxygen to the body and has nothing to do with emotions. The heart is no more responsible for your IQ or SAT scores.

Recipients of cheesy carnations are about as desirable as a female Bigfoot with a bad case of the mange. Carnations are the epitome of the flower world and their only place is at funerals.

I’m sorry but I don’t make the rules. See page 13 in the Valentine’s Day for Dummies handbook.

The rules were established by greedy retailers who made the societal sheep drink cherry Kool aid out of heart shaped crazy straws until their brains imploded and they succumbed to all that is heart shaped, nonsensical and overpriced.

Exercise caution when gifting jewelry, as it’s risky and can be a double edged sword.

Plainly stated, if you’re in a serious relationship and you’re not gifting her an engagement ring… you’re fucked. When you reach a certain age and point in your relationship, anything that’s not the coveted 14 kt gold circle promising your undying love is an automatic fail. You might as well wrap a box of donkey poop, because that’s all you’re going to get credit for. Plus, this will save you a butt load of money.

Know this gentlemen. I speak the truth.

I’m also very sorry about this. Society can be a real pain in ass when it comes to creating bullshit expectations.

Let’s think logically for a moment.

Pass the talking stick to the brain.

What if… we designate a special day when couples celebrate their sappy love for one another like perhaps the day they intentionally made that commitment.

Their anniversary.

This would eliminate the need to drag everyone else who’s not tethered to a ball and chain through Valentines cow manure – putting an end to the annual bloody massacre of ladies by drunk cupids playing GI Joe with pink and red polka dotted AK 47’s.

I, for one think Valentine’s Day bites.

Conditions are perfect for boys and men everywhere to fuck up.

The very best they can hope for is to maintain their current standing and not clinch a lifelong spot in the Valentines Hall of Shame.

One stupid day should not define a relationship.

Seriously ladies, if you need a man bearing materialistic overpriced gifts like flowers and candy to complete you or make you feel happy and loved… you’re screwed.

Not-so-common sense strongly suggests that we never rely on others for our own happiness and/or fulfillment.

Happiness comes from within. It’s not something another person presents you in a vase or giant heart shaped box.

Valentines Day sucks rotten eggs, and not the Cadbury kind.

It would be different if the overall theme of Valentine’s Day was to simply celebrate LOVE.

Not couples love, but love of family, love of friends, love for humanity, love for all creatures large and small.

Expressing universal and unconditional love has the added benefit of making the giver feel warm and fuzzy, simply because it feels right.

If you absolutely yearn for the warm physical presence of another, I highly recommend bringing a dog or cat into your life.

Dogs happen to be the only creature on Earth who display the ability to unconditionally love someone more than they love themselves.

You can’t beat the love of a dog.

Dogs rock.

Happy Hearts Day to everyone… single, married and those aspiring to die the happy-but-mad cat collecting lady.